


Resolving the Dissonance

by xGlitterBabyx (MysticSorcha)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Drug Use, Gen, Tumblr: letswritesherlock, challenge 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticSorcha/pseuds/xGlitterBabyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home from a case that awakened demons from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolving the Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to give HUGE thanks to thescienceofjohnlock for handholding and helping out. and thank you for helping futz the end!! I LOVE YOU! This is my first foray into the Sherlock fandom, writing-wise, so i’m hugely nervous. Unbeta’d due to time constraints and long Les Miserables rehearsals this weekend. But i do plan on getting it beta’d eventually because i hate unbeta’d works *cringes*.

 

 

The cab ride was silent on the way home from Scotland Yard, a complete contrast to the cacophony of noise going on in Sherlock’s mind, like an orchestra losing control. He should be happy. It had been an extremely complicated case involving a string of murders made to look like suicides. The cherry on top was that the killer—Morris,had been using the victims as guinea pigs for a new hallucinogenic drug.

Really, once he’d figured out the chemical makeup of the drug, it was obvious who the creator was. But someone had been smart enough to lead Sherlock on some false trails, and that was where the fun began.

He could sense John’s eyes on him every now and again, reading the tension on his jaw line. Sherlock was grateful John remained quiet. Any added noise, to that which was already going on in his mind **,** would have made him murderous.

Sherlock could feel the tremors beginning in his hands—the first sign of his failing strength to fight the cravings. He should have known better than to take on the case. _Stupid,_ stupid!

They’d had the element of surprise, sneaking up on the criminal in his makeshift lab. John went one way and Sherlock the other, but there had been something he’d missed—a security camera. Instead of catching Morris in the act, Morris was waiting to attack. As a result, Sherlock had gotten a face full of a powdered substance.

It was like the flipping of a switch. Sherlock knew he hadn’t inhaled much of it, but he couldn’t tell who was friend or foe anymore.

When they arrived at 221 Baker Street, Sherlock let John pay the fare as he swept out of the cab and up to their flat.

“Sherlock, wait!” He could hear John rushing up the stairs behind him.

Sighing, Sherlock hung up his coat before sitting on the couch, wanting nothing more than to go to his room. He didn’t want to see the look of worry on John’s face, see how _weak_ he was becoming.

It was _disgusting_.

His hands started shaking once more and he gripped the couch cushion to still them. Suddenly John was kneeling in front of him— _how had he not noticed John entering the room?_

“I need to check you over.”

Sherlock sighed, “’m _fine_.” It was a lie. He could still feel the last vestiges of the drug running through him in equal parts torture and ecstasy.

“You most certainly are _not_ fine. You got a face full of whatever that bastard was mixing at the lab. You’ve no idea what it could be.” John produced his penlight— _when had he gotten his medical kit?_ —and clicked it on before going about checking Sherlock. “You were sitting here for a few minutes stock still, if you’re wondering what you’re missing.”

_Oh, wonderful._ “Just a slight withdrawal **,** John. I’ll be fine.” Sherlock was itching to get to his room. Closing his eyes, he breathed in slowly through his nose, back out and...

“Sherlock?”

John’s frightened voice made him snap his eyes open and growl in frustration. “What, John? Are you finished? I’m sure there’s some infuriating programme on the television you’re missing.”

“You lost consciousness for a few seconds, but I can see it didn’t affect your attitude,” John snapped and then sighed. “Sorry, I’m just worried about you.”

_Lost consciousness?_ Sherlock stood up slowly, testing his balance, before heading toward his bedroom. He needed to fix this.

“Sherlock **,** where are you going?”

He groaned. “Isn’t it _obvious_?”

“You need—“

“I don’t need anything but to be _alone_. I appreciate your sense of duty, but this is hardly my first come down.“ Sherlock paused and turned his head to find John with a shocked expression. “As well you _should_ know.”

He made it to his door before John replied, “Alone is the last thing you should be right now.”

He pretended he didn’t hear it and closed the door.

Once inside **,** Sherlock took a deep breath, settling his rattled nerves, before going to his wardrobe. He dug out the pile of miscellaneous-but-important things before prying the false bottom out to reveal a small, ornate wooden box.

His hands shook as he reached in and took it out. It had been years since he had seen it, even less than he’d like to admit that he had thought about it. But there it was.

Sherlock’s mind was spinning again, theorchestral chaos clouding his thoughts and making him feel slow. He could only see one solution, one way to make it all stop.Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t the only choice to make, but he was no longer in charge.

Opening the box, he let out a moan.He’d underestimated how much he had missed the vintage glass of the syringe lying in its bed of dark purple velvet.  Beside it was a small vial that glinted in the lamp light as he held it up in awe. Sherlock shook it to mix in the bits that might have settled, but it was a pure solution—nothing less for his mind.

He pulled one of the needles from the set and attached it to the syringe before finally opening the vial. The saline wove a seductive dance up into the syringe.It took everything in Sherlock’s power to savour the moment.

Sherlock pulled the velvet out of the box to reveal the bundle of tourniquets and tied one around his bicep, pulling it tight with his teeth. Letting the air out of the syringe, he took a deep breath to calm his body—he couldn’t afford to botch this.

Pumping his fist, he located a vein and lined up the syringe before pressing in. He winced slightly at the pinprick, but ignored it in favour of getting the needle seated properly.

Another deep breath in and he depressed the plunger slowly, feeling a rush creep over him.

Oh **,** how he’d missed this. _Blissful, like a cadence resolving a long held dissonance._

Once he’d emptied the syringe, he pulled it free and loosened the tourniquet.

“Sherlock, Mycroft just—”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to meet John’s, his face a study in anguish and betrayal. The cacophony was almost gone now—muted in the background. He blinked slowly and smiled.

“Everything will be all right, John. Care to join me?”

 

 


End file.
